


A Child of Winter and a Wandering Wolf

by Ragga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chance Meetings, Child Stiles, Creature Stiles, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, With a little angst on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: Peter just needed a moment alone, away from his overbearing pack and the Christmas cheer he was not feeling. He got more than he anticipated, starting with a winter wonderland and a boy who would change his life.





	A Child of Winter and a Wandering Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Because everyone needs a little something to thaw their frozen toes and cold fingers in these darkening nights <3

It happened during the winter holidays a few years after Peter finally left for the university. Well, he left and then came back. For Christmas. And for other holidays. Because Talia forced him to. Lovely, right? It was an awful mixture of ‘I’m commanding you, I'm the alpha, hear me roar’ and guilt tripping, both used more liberally than was legal. He should know, he was in Yale for law.

Oh, but Cora misses you so! Please, the kid was more into picking fights with school bullies, and Peter still remembered when she liked to gnaw on his toes too much for comfort.

Derek wants your presence! As if the boy ever lifted his eyes from a book long enough to see him or anyone else, except maybe to watch basketball matches and hope he would grow tall enough to play in the future. Maybe he would also grow out of his bunny teeth too. Miracles were known to happen.

Laura wishes you were there! Sure, to tail after him and continuously try to impress him with her bright and glorious future as the next alpha – because Peter had been born late and as a surprise to his and Talia’s parents, which naturally made him unfit, didn’t it?

So now he was hiding in the cold preserve, just before the Christmas Eve. He knew the next few days would be spent with the pack without a window of escape – their cousins, aunts, uncles, every whatnot and whoever made it an impossibility – so he savoured these little moments of peace. He desperately wished he could be back with his mates in Yale and drink himself stupid – he had found a druid working as a bartender during his first year and _hell_ if she didn’t make a mean cocktail – while lamenting life and perhaps find someone to share their bed with.

‘Their’, being the keyword. Peter would never drag anyone to his safe place. He rarely if ever even gave them his name, despite knowing he had left an impression and want for seconds, even when some never even had their firsts.

There was a reason his mates called him the worst wingman in the world.

Peter grimaced as he dodged the wet slush which almost fell on him from above. It was the worst Christmas he had ever seen yet. He’d prefer no snow to this wet nightmare. He could just imagine running around with bare feet and feel it stick through his toes…

 _Ugh_.

Something cracked close to him, something that sounded more like ice than crispy air attacking the trees. He was instantly on alert but for the life of him he could sense nothing and no one. There was no scent but the winter, no noise but the ominous cracks of ice. Peter stared at the river close to his left.

It was flowing without a care in the world.

Except… it no longer was.

There was a layer of ice creeping upstream like before the Snow Queen. Peter watched, wary but curious despite himself. He noticed, despite his high body temperature, that the air around him was getting colder by moment until he could see his breath turn white when he exhaled. Had he been a mere human, his light jacket and jeans would have been insufficient coverage from the brisk air. Frost was also turning the naked branches into intricate master pieces Peter had left behind in Yale, and the ground had gained a pretty layer of untouched purity to hide the death it was covered in.

And then he heard the laugh.

It was young, there was no doubt about it. It chimed with brightness he could have expected from Cora if only she was more excited about using her voice than biting things. There was something in that voice that resonated in him and made him want to join in. The scent of winter, of snow and ice and frost, deepened until Peter realised that it had to come from the person coming ever closer to him. His senses did not scream danger – and Peter was great at trusting them, despite his tendencies to blend in with ordinary humans more than most which had driven his father _crazy_ – so he took a step forward, marring the ground before him, and then took another. And another. He briefly glanced back as he made his way towards the stream to see his footsteps appear almost as if from nowhere even if they were quickly disappearing under a lighter layer of white.

He arrived at the bank and stopped. He waited.

He didn’t need to stand there for long.

The ice had reached the small waterfall on the end of the stream, climbing ever higher, creating a statue of water almost spilling over, like a fountain had frozen solid. And then he could taste the cold, and a figure burst from the shadows of the evening.

It was a child, just as Peter had guessed, and close to Cora's age from a quick glance. He was covered in patchy white fur, chest exposed to the air. His eyes were a bright blue, electric in their glory, similar yet so very different to the guilty blue belonging to some of the werewolves.

The boy – because it, he, was male – danced like the world’s most graceful skater on the ice, quick and fast, but with a few almost clumsy slides which revealed his age. He whooped and laughed and twirled around before his eyes met Peter’s.

He skidded to a halt so abruptly that it caused the ice crack underneath him, yet it reformed immediately again as the boy swiped over it with his-

Feet. His huge, fur-covered feet. They had to be bigger than Derek’s even if his nephew had to be years the boy’s senior. Perhaps they were even as big as Peter's. There were claws instead of nails too which, Peter now noticed, adorned the boy’s hands too even if his hands were more human-like than his… feet. Paws? Feet.

The boy continued staring at him, his blue eyes glowing in the dark. Peter stared back before he flashed his golden ones which made the boy gasp. A burst of joy filled the air, almost as if the boy was- _happy_ to see him. Which, Peter thought, made no sense. No one was ever happy to see Peter. One exception might be his mates, maybe, but even they had noticed his tendency to enjoy their company only when it suited him which didn’t endear him to them all too much.

The boy flashed his eyes, appearing a brown almost amber before returning to the supernatural blue, to which Peter returned the favour. Another burst of giggles erupted from the boy before he was suddenly before Peter and he had to crane his head down to be able to see the child. The boy had his hand raised, hovering before him, almost asking for permission. To what? To touch him?

Well, if he fancied it, although he definitely wasn’t Peter’s usual type.

He held his hand out and the boy squealed, taking it into his own. Peter scowled briefly before schooling his features.

By all that was holy, the boy’s hands were-

He blinked in surprise. The hands, he had expected them to be cold for having been exposed to the crispy air for who knows how long but they were warmer than his own? The warmth even spread to him, tingling as it danced up his arm. The boy looked up and grinned, patting his hand a few times and being distracted again as Peter extracted his claws. The boy started immediately comparing them to his while Peter looked around, his frown deepening for yet another reason. Where were the boy’s parents? It was unnatural for a child of – six? seven? eight? – to run around the preserve alone, even a supernatural child. Maybe especially a supernatural child. The supernatural community – as well as their hunters – knew that a well-established pack lived within these parts of the woods so there was sometimes more attention than necessary with Talia being renowned for… well, Peter had never really gotten what she was particularly known for as she had shut her enforcer out while demanding his attention at the same time. At some point he had just started to ignore whatever was going on with her but-

He digressed. A child. No parents. Why?

He stared at the brown hair streaked with frost and sighed. What was he supposed to do with a child of whatever he was? He wasn’t an ice fairy, that was for certain – his feet gave him away – and he was no big foot – a total myth as humans had actually mistaken a fucking bear as a mythical creature, what the fuck conspiracy theorists – even if those same feet would claim to fit the slippers. Glass slippers. Ice slippers.

Ha.

He crouched down to meet the child at the eye level. He flashed his eyes again to gain his attention – it worked, and seemed to still delight the child if his giggles were to judge – and asked, “Where are your parents?”

Because first things first, Peter was not going to be in charge of a boy barely over his toddlerhood or whatever. He may be an adult but he was not going to be responsible for a child. That’s why he wasn’t the one popping out kids like they were the latest trend like Talia; no, he was studying in an Ivy League, was going to create a career that would tide him over, secure his spot as an independent wolf but also manage to be an asset no one could overlook. He was going to be powerful, he was going to demand his place and-

That did not include babysitting.

Not. One. Bit.

The boy did not answer him. Peter felt his facial muscles twitch but he kept the pleasant smile on his face. The boy’s eyes widened and then he opened his mouth-

Only to laugh at him. At his _face_.

The twitching got worse, and the already forced smile turned even more forced.

“What about your name?” he cajoled but the kid only snickered, snowflakes dancing around them in wobbly little movements like they were also laughing at Peter. Peter’s smile turned cold.

What a brat.

“My sister can find your parents for you,” he said instead, intending on ditching him for Talia and her motherly instincts or whatever, and snatched the child by his hand and tugged him along. The boy fell forward, almost faceplanting on the ground if not for Peter’s grip on him. Instantly as his feet left the ice, the surface started to break apart. The cracks grew deeper and larger by the moment until the small waterfall burst through and the leftovers were washed down with a wave of water. The boy’s mouth fell open and he looked very upset.

He _sniffed_.

Peter stiffened. Oh hell no.

“Look, we can get you home, alright?” he said, trying to sound reassuring. Evidently it did not work as the boy sniffed again. Three times. And his eyes were _beginning to water_.

_What the fuck was he supposed to do now?_

Peter dropped to sit on his haunches, and rested one of his hands on the boy’s furry shoulder. Well, part-furry. There were odd spots of white fur here and there almost like he was in the middle of shedding. What a pleasant image, a human – or human-like creature – shedding. If Peter wanted fur to stick to his designer clothes, he would have gotten a cat.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he cooed, trying for the tone his sister used every time her kids got upset. The boy’s eyes met his, flickering between the brown and the blue. He flashed his again and the boy’s seemed to settle back on the blue. Peter dug into his pocket, finding the Reese’s bar he had snatched from the kitchen before he left. It might have belonged to Derek once, but his nephew should have known better than to leave things lying around at the back of the third cupboard in a house full of werewolves. Especially when Peter was home.

He waved the snack before the kid. “You hungry?”

The boy’s gaze followed the bar for a swing or two before looking back at Peter, nodding hesitantly. Peter pressed it on the kid’s hands.

“It’s all I have right now but back at the house there’s plenty of things to eat. We could have a little snack while my sister will look for your parents. What do you say?”

The boy looked wary. Good, if not a little inconvenient right now. At least his parents had done something right, even if the stranger danger instinct seemed to be of a more selective variety.

“I promise not to eat you or your snack,” he said, and pressed his hand not touching the boy over his heart. The boy shook his head, mouth jutting stubbornly. Peter blinked in bemusement. He was not scared of him? Then- "I promise my pack won't eat you?" The boy stared at him for a moment before extending his pinky. Peter wanted to groan.

A pinky promise? Really?

Reluctantly, he extended his and swung hands with the child.

He was so glad there were no witnesses there.

The boy sent one last forlorn glance at the now unfrozen stream but took Peter’s hand, and followed him back towards the Hale house. Their walk was slow because one step of Peter’s would have been at least twice the boy’s despite his rather large feet. It was a little awkward walk overall. He was munching on the Reese’s, quiet, of which Peter was happy about. Sort of. It was a little eerie as the frost seemed to manage to keep up at least a few feet ahead of them. He sent a look behind them but couldn’t really see in the dark if it melted when the light coat of snow left the boy’s radius.

“My sister will definitely find your parents,” he said, reassuring the boy again despite immediately afterwards wondering why he did that. The boy looked up at him, and made an inquiring sound. Probably. Peter took it as such anyway.

“She’s a relatively important figure in the county,” Peter explained, “And knows everything about everyone which can get quite vexing.” The boy stared at him before offering a bite out of the chocolate bar. Peter shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. We just don’t get along as well as most other packs.” Now the boy made a higher pitched noise, almost as in excitement. Peter nodded. “Yes, we are werewolves. Flashy eyes club?” The boy flashed his eyes and grinned toothily. Peter should not find that adorable.

“I guess Talia and I just grew up different. She was the only – and golden – child for so long until I appeared as a surprise. It was a given that the pack had already divided their roles somewhat so making space for another mainline child was a little difficult. And I’m not sure why I’m explaining this to you because you are a kid and don’t understand a thing. Or maybe that’s just it, I just need to vent,” he mused. The boy tried to offer his snack again. Peter tried to deny it but the boy insisted. With a sign, he scooped down and took a bite. It was pretty good. If there was one thing he and Derek shared, it was their taste in snacks.

The boy had a self-satisfied look on his face to which Peter couldn’t help but snort. “But I guess your parents are already looking for you. Tell me, do you have siblings?”

The kid shook his head. Peter nodded.

“Another golden child then. They are definitely looking for you.”

The boy drooped a little, before nodding. Peter wondered what that was about but dismissed it.

“It must be nice to have things to call your own and not hand-me-downs or pitiful looks,” he sighed dramatically. Truthfully, his parents hadn’t known what to do with him so they had thrown money at him since he was a kid so hand-me-downs weren’t a thing for him. The looks, though, were. Maybe not pity but the ones that screamed that you don’t really belong? Yeah, those. Despite owning a lot of material, Peter just… didn’t _own_ much, if that made sense, and he couldn’t help but resent people who would throw away genuine affection for things replaceable.

The boy stopped and wouldn’t budge, letting go of Peter’s hand.

Peter turned around, and tilted his head. The boy stared and stared at him, eyes narrow as if he was examining him. When he moved forward to reach for the boy, all he got for his effort were hands thrown to stop him and an impatient wave for him to stand still. With an exasperated huff, he did.

The boy looked him over for what felt like five minutes before he nodded. Then he made Peter turn around and wait. Peter complied, focusing on their surroundings and on the boy so he wouldn’t escape. He did not need to run around in search of a patchy-furred not-big foot but big footed kid.

It got colder behind him, and the frost around them intensified. Peter shivered, the warmth he had grown used to disappearing fast. Even his higher than normal body temperature did nothing for the cold seeping into his clothes. He tried to listen for anything, anyone, but aside from the noises the boy was making – little huffs and puffs and exclamations – there were none. Well, he could hear a few of the loudest noises coming from the Hale house. He suspected it was Laura making them, perhaps with some of her cousins.

Suddenly, he had his vision full of a very excited little boy vibrating almost out of his skin. He eyes were sparkling with delight and he was… holding something behind his back?

“What do you have there?” Peter played along, suspecting he would be given his trash back in a probably child-like attempt at origami or something. The boy pulled his hands in front of him and held them out and-

It was a statue of a wolf.

No, it was an ice figurine. It wasn’t the most detailed one, sloppy on one side while sharp on the other but… it was clearly a male wolf. The boy pushed it on Peter’s hands where it fitted perfectly, having been a little too big for the boy. He couldn’t help but smile softly. It was actually very good quality and looked almost like it was made of crystal if not for the less transparent and reflective surface, giving it a more glass-like appearance. What surprised him was that it wasn’t even cold, not at all; it was almost warm, despite him knowing that couldn’t be. He turned it around and back, admiring the fierce but smug look on the wolf’s face, the power evident in the wolf’s pose. It was-

Wait a minute-

“Is this- is this me?” Peter asked, his eyes drawn to the boy. He was switching between his legs, grinning and nodding wildly. Peter didn’t know what to say.

Goddamn, he had never been struck speechless by his pack nor his associates or friends, and yet, this little brat managed to-

“What- why would you-?”

The boy flushed a little, making odd hand movements. Peter didn’t follow. The boy made a move that almost looked like he was motioning for them to go back and-

“You did this so I would have something of my own?”

Something to distinguish himself?

The boy was red but looked very pleased with himself. Peter looked at the wolf again, and could see himself in it, even with its sloppy yet detailed lines and sharp edges. This was the child’s view of him and- Peter didn’t know when or how he had given him enough to make such a piece of art. He was impressed despite himself.

“Thank you,” he said, and the boy beamed. Then the kid waved also his candy wrapper, and Peter snorted. “Yeah, these two are not equivalent. Let me steal a few of my sister’s Swiss chocolates. She won’t mind if it’s you.”

The boy’s eyes widened again and he opened his mouth to-

An echo of a roar coming from somewhere behind them filled the air. There was a crispy and almost hollow tone to it, like a wind’s howl. The boy went alert, eyes flashing again. He gave Peter one last look, darted to touch him one last time, something _sparked_ between them, before taking off like a rocket. Peter was unbalanced for a moment, intending to follow because _what the fuck now, they were just about to be there_ -

The boy was not there.

A sudden burst of wind and snow in the air left the ground looking untouched and when Peter tried to get the boy’s scent, it was too light and undistinguished from the winter wonderland around him. The trees were in full snow blanket and the ground was pristine yet again. If Peter still didn’t hold the sculpture, he would have thought the boy as a figment of his imagination.

Well, almost.

When Peter got back to the house, he got a few teasing remarks and a disappointed look from Talia for missing dinner. Laura was particularly fascinated with his wolf, wanting one for herself, and touched it before Peter could snatch it from her reach. However, it was unnecessary as the girl fumbled a few steps back, cursing – _language, Laura_ – and demanding to know how he could be touching something so cold it burned to touch.

Peter didn’t answer, just left them wondering and muttering behind him, and set his ice wolf down on his bookshelf where it could watch the moon rise and reach for the distance. For freedom.

It was untouchable, and Peter would be too.

He gave the woods one last longing look before leaving his room behind, answering Talia’s calls to come back downstairs. Yet his stride was long and his back was straight.

_Someday._

Something tickled at the back of his mind, sweet and innocent, unexpected but welcome, and he smiled, scaring his nephew.

He was never cold again.

***

Cuddled in the warm blankets, holding tight to his treasure, Stiles slept deep and he dreamed, ignoring the way his world was crumbling around him, his mother losing herself little by little and his father struggling to keep them afloat. He had found someone, a soul that resonated with his, that accepted his cold for the warmth that it was.

_My wolf._

**Author's Note:**

> I remember writing this a few months ago and thought I'd write more to it. Well, I still might but I already have my plate full so who knows? Maybe I should have kept it for my Steter week compilation but I've been writing so much and my thesis was just sent for one last check so I just wanted to post _something_ , haha, like I've achieved something.
> 
> Also, I was cold and this kept me warm <3


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